


Something Tells Me This Isn't Your First Time Tying Someone Up

by hypothetical_chainsaw



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Crack, F/F, Sports Day, Zelda Spellman runs for no one...except her niece, back when Lilith was still "Mary", healthy competition plus a little rope bondage to round it off, set early part 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27418732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypothetical_chainsaw/pseuds/hypothetical_chainsaw
Summary: Zelda somehow gets signed up for the parent/teacher race at Sabrina’s sports day. If that wasn't humiliating enough, it’s a three legged race...tied to"Miss Wardwell."A response to the Madam Spellman Fictober Challenge bonus prompt - crack!
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51
Collections: Madam Spellman Fictober Challenge





	Something Tells Me This Isn't Your First Time Tying Someone Up

It had been the doe eyes that had done it. In just sixteen short years, Sabrina had perfected her father’s best look of innocence and, when paired with that trembling bottom lip, it made for a combination Zelda could rarely say no to. While she had thought it might have lost some of its effectiveness as her niece navigated the mood swings of adolescence, the rarity with which it was employed in her teen years had bolstered its sway. That is why, on a Satan-forsakenly hot June afternoon, Zelda Spellman begrudgingly donned sneakers for the first time in her existence.

Lacing them felt foreign; too much space in the toes, the pinch shifted to midfoot when she drew the strings together too tightly. If it wasn’t for Sabrina’s expectant face beside her, her Jimmy Choos would be firmly back in place. Instead she was met with bunny ear bows waving up at her. She grimaced, setting her foot down, shuffling the stilettos beneath the bench and away from sticky fingers; she’d seen the mother’s eying them up from the opposite end of the school field and she was not about to be returning home in the monstrosities currently on her feet.

“You’re up next, Auntie.” Sabrina chirped, urging her to her feet.

A few of the fathers stood at the starting line, limbering up already. The closest winked, jeans riding down to reveal his behind as he made a less than impressive show of attempting to touch his toes. He made it no further than mid-shin. Zelda grimaced. _How gauche_.

Besides him, Zelda’s race partner did the same; Miss Wardwell’s display of flexibility far more impressive as her palms rested flat in the tufts of grass by her feet. Impressive, but equally as gauche. Her wink carried with it both ridicule of the mortal's efforts and...what? Genuine desire? A hint of collusion? Either way it had Zelda hot under her shirt collar and for a moment, even the thin linen was stifling. She pulled at it discreetly, undoing a button for a little more breathing room. It served only to earn her appreciative glances from both stretching racers.

Sighing heavily, Zelda allowed herself to be pulled across to the racetrack, Sabrina more enthused than she had been in Satan knew how many years. The idea of her aunt’s forced indignity seemed overly pleasing to her.

Flashbacks to the year, through a coordinated effort, Sabrina and Ambrose had somehow coerced her into wearing a party hat and blowing out all 298 candles on the birthday cake they had made, flashed through her mind and she shuddered. All photographic evidence had been destroyed as far as she was aware, and yet Ambrose still managed to taunt her with a card featuring her surly-faced festivities the following year. She would be taking no chances today; any mortal daring to hold a camera aloft would find it suddenly crushed by unknown forces.

"You know the rules?" Sabrina questioned as they neared the amassed parents and faculty.

It was frankly absurd thinking that in three centuries the rules of a three-legged race had evaded her. Zelda purses her lips, fighting back the urge to snap at her niece; the girl was just as competitive as she was. She only wanted to win.

"I get tied to a perfect stranger and expected to hobble to the finish line for a jeering crowd? I think I'm aware."

"Not a perfect stranger, now." Miss Wardwell held the rope between delicate fingers, smiling demurely, "Though I'd dare say we might be a little better acquainted after this."

Zelda's scowl deepened. No amount of carefully applied night cream would save her from the stress-induced wrinkles this afternoon would form. The crease between her brow had been steadily increasing since Sabrina's failed dark baptism. No doubt it would be the main victim of today too.

Before she could make her excuses to her niece and remove herself from this farce, the girl was lost within the crowded spectators and Zelda's fate was sealed.

It should have been Hilda here. Any other day and she wouldn’t have been subjected to this humiliation, but on her plans for today, Hilda was unmoving. It was rare that her sister put up much of a fight on matters such as these, Zelda's plans being followed without question. But, on the few occasions that she did, there was no arguing with her. This had been just such a time; Hilda left red faced as she attempted to, oh so delicately, explain why a three day trip with her incubus could not and would not be moved.

She surveyed the lineup, noting more than a few beer bellies and ill-fitting tracksuits. Maybe she wasn't the only one not entirely prepared for this after all. One thing became glaringly obvious, however, as the other competitors began roping their ankles together: they were the only female pair, the underdogs for certain in the eyes of the men jostling to their left. _Great_.

"Are you not going to stretch, Miss Spellman?"

Zelda's attention was quickly pulled back to the woman at her side, her ankle now held beside her head. She had to give it to her, that _was_ impressive, though completely unnecessary for the level of activity a 100m dash would see them put in.

"For a 30 second race? I think I'll be okay." She snarked, folding her arms across her chest as the rest of the teacher's warm up played out before her.

"Suit yourself," Mary lowered her ankle back to the ground, rolling her neck, "But I imagine even your slippers have heels. Your calves will be burning tonight."

Finally finishing her preparations, Mary held up the rope once more, pressing her ankle flush to Zelda’s. The point of contact may have been relatively small but any and all close proximity in this heat was unbearable and Zelda groaned internally as her core temperature slowly rose.

Given how much of a show she’d made of stretching, Zelda didn’t know what she’d expected of the school teacher now it was time to actually tie them together, but the suggestive wiggle she gave as she lowered to her knees, eyes fixed on Zelda’s, had every father’s attention. And a few of the mother’s.

Mary fumbled with the rope, pulling it this way and that as she audibly deliberated which way to tie it.

Though relatively soft, the rope scratched at the delicate skin above Zelda’s ankle and, when the familiar sensation had her stifling a shiver at remembered (far more agreeable) rope tying activities, she briefly wished she'd opted for pants that reached lower than the burgundy pedal pushers. Satan save her, the race hadn’t even started yet and already the day was far more trying than she’d anticipated.

"Give it here." She admonished, snatching the rope from Miss Wardwell's grip as she joined her at ground level.

The woman certainly didn't strike her as the type to have shied away from a little illicit rope tying. The bumbling inexperience was an act then. Her smirk as Zelda made quick work of a simple quick release knot confirmed it.

"Something tells me this isn't your first time tying someone up, Miss Spellman." Mary all but purred, that devilish smirk still curving her features.

Her breath brushed Zelda’s lips but, with limbs now attached, there was nowhere to go but up. Zelda stood with speed enough to make her dizzy, blood pressure likely skyrocketing. She tapped her foot in agitation, the frustration only rising when their bound ankles restricted the full force of the movement.

“Miss Wardwell, I intend to remain tied to you for as short a period as required. Let’s see if we can avoid it being quite so onerous, shall we?”

“Why don’t we go with ‘Principal Wardwell?’” That damn purr was back, “I’m sure deferring to seniority feels more natural to you when you’re restrained.”

Whether her anger was due to the audacity of the woman strapped to her, or the accuracy of the suggestion, Zelda wasn't certain. The pooling heat in her abdomen, however, could definitely be ascribed to both.

“If you think-”

The echo of the starting shot pulled her from her ire and, before she had fully registered what was happening, Miss Wardwell’s hand had firm grasp of hers and they were midway down the track. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed they were somehow well in the lead, despite Zelda’s legs trailing behind her as her brain tried to catch up with quite what was happening. That was, until, from the other end of the track, the Kinkle/Putnam team appeared from nowhere, legs moving in perfect rhythm as Joe gave a commanding ‘1, 2’ count. It reeked of weeks of training sessions. Truly ridiculous.

Zelda Spellman would not lose to a drunkard and a farmer. And it seemed Mary had no intention of that happening either; their own pace increasing dramatically as they fought to counteract the obvious advantage prior practice and longer legs had given the men.

Finish line in sight, the four were neck and neck, Zelda’s legs unable to carry her any faster and she doubted Mary’s could either. Yet still they tried, sneakers pounding hard against the uneven ground, only to collapse mere inches from the line as one ankle twisted with another, sending Zelda crashing to the ground. Miss Wardwell’s landing was slightly softer; directly on top of Zelda.

Zelda groaned loudly at the impact; Mary all bones and angles as their bodies crashed together. The sound of her discomfort was covered, however, by a roar of cheers as the men crossed the finish line.

As Zelda panted heavily, all attempts to regain her breath in vain with another person pressing directly on her ribs, the absurdity of the situation dawned on her. Here she lay, splayed across Baxter High’s sports field, the most infuriating woman she’d ever met lying atop her, all in an attempt to win a _plastic medal._ She groaned again, slamming her head back against the grass. Perhaps Hilda had been right when she’d suggested her magpie tendencies were getting a little out of hand.

“I could have guessed you’d end up moaning under me, but I thought you’d at least wait for a little privacy first.” Mary breathed, face full of innocence as she gave a subtle grind of her hips and the air was stolen from Zelda’s lungs, “Quite the exhibitionist.”

Mary rose as gracefully as was possible while still joined by the ankle to a now red faced witch, grabbing her hand to pull her to her feet too.

“I’m keen to get a little practice in, ready for next time.” Mary jerked the end of the knot, releasing them with a quick tug, “Shall I expect you this evening, or do you have a more enticing offer for the night?”

* * *

"My apologies, Miss Spellman. It appears I made a few wrong assumptions earlier. You're far more familiar with the ropes restraining _you._ I should have known."

Drawing up as far as her bound wrists would allow, Zelda released an indignant sigh. The noise quickly shifted to a groan as the bond at her left wrist was secured more tightly, pulling her forward towards the small metal hoop protruding from between two floorboards at the foot of Mary's bed. She widened her stance to better accommodate the bent double positioning, calves still burning from an afternoon's overuse. Mary was right; she should have stretched beforehand. She wouldn't admit it.

A cool hand traced the curve of her spine as Mary stood, punctuating the movement with a sharp smack to her bare behind. The force of it jolted Zelda forward, palms planting firmly either side of the hoop to stabilise herself. She could only imagine the smug smirk that would have earned.

"Now, let's see if you can be a good little witch and come first this time, shall we?"

When cool fingers traced lower to brush across her clit, all thoughts of complaint were lost. Perhaps sports day wasn't _that_ bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Does this class as crack or just absurd? 😂 Either way, thank you for reading and let me know if you'd like more of this more light-hearted/nonsense/crack style or if I should stick to my bread and butter of emotional constipation with far too many mentions of hands.
> 
> All comments and kudos are loved with my entire heart and are keeping me going through this shit-show of a year.


End file.
